(2) You can teach anyone the art of "that's what she said." My aunt has both set me up for, and used that line on multiple occasions since learning it on Friday. Now if only I could teach her the art of hitting a bong....

(3) You can buy a cannoli kit at Costco!!!!!!!!! It comes with pre-made shells and two bags of conveniently-packaged filling. I've been a longtime fan of BJ's, that's what she said, and never saw the need to get a Costco membership.... until now.

(4) Newborn babies love boobs. Seriously. I was holding my one-month old cousin, trying to get him to stop crying. No dice. I gave him to my grandma, who still has quite the rack, and after three minutes of being pushed up against those puppies, the kid fell asleep. She handed him back to me so that I could put him in his little vibrating chair and he started wailing. My mammary-gifted cousin took him, and lo and behold, after 5 minutes on her bosom, he was out. Now please, allow me to clarify that I an not challenged in the boob department; I would actually describe them as nothing less than spectacular. But they're apparently not big enough to comfort a screaming baby. I guess all men are the same...

(5) I suck at Dance Dance Revolution. And Wii tennis. Bowling, however....(5a) Eight kids in one house is OK because it's not in my house.

(6) I love to cook. OK, so this isn't a recent discovery. But making stuffing, cranberry sauce, a raspberry tart and a chocolate cheesecake this weekend has reinforced my culinary passion. I can't wait to use that pastry dough I have in the freezer. That's what she--wait, that doesn't work here.

(7) My 73-year old uncle got a lap dance from a stripper at a bachelor party last week. And it wasn't the first time.

(8) Forgiveness is a powerful thing. (Completely unrelated to the #8, I swear.)

(9) There's something to be said about having a nice big house on Long Island. Four bedrooms, five bathrooms, an office, a den, a playroom, an eat-in kitchen, floor-to-roof windows in the living room, wood-burning stove, big backyard with a trampoline, a soon-to-be-finished attic that will include a fifth bedroom and second office...

Saturday, November 29, 2008

I don't go shopping on Black Friday. I never did and I'm pretty sure I never will. For one, I hate crowds. I like to go into a store, pick up what I came for, and leave. Fighting my way through obnoxious people at 5am to save $20 on a digital camera does not sound like my idea of a good time. Secondly, I have a very low tolerance for stupidity. And people who come out at 5am to bum-rush the doors to Wal-Mart, trampling and killing a man like a piece of garbage in the process, rank pretty high on my Stupid List.

I won't lie, I love a good deal as much as the next guy. One of the perks of working as a retail manager for so many years was paying WAY below MSRP for a lot of things. But as much as I like saving money, I like not being bothered more. I'm not one of those people who will travel 5 miles out of my way to save $10 on a sweater because that other store is having a sale. I also won't go somewhere that doesn't have parking, even if I'm missing out on saving $20. Call it laziness, but my time and sanity are much more important than saving a few dollars.

So it follows that I was not one of those people lined up outside Best Buy on Thursday night at midnight. And I was also not one of the maniacs that stampeded the doors of Wal-Mart, killing that poor employee. Out of pure selfish greed, out of some primal need to be first in line, 200 idiots rushed the doors of Wal-Mart on Long Island as they were being opened at 5am, knocked over Jdimytai Damour, an innocent employee, and then stepped on him, trampled him, over and over again until he was dead.

Is this what our country has come to? Is this what Christmas has come to? Killing people in the name of a good deal? I'm pretty sure that's not what Jesus wanted. I hope those people feel real good about themselves this holiday season. But knowing what kind of folk a 5am sale at a Long Island Wal-Mart attracts, I wouldn't be surprised if every single one of those humanitarians is telling their family, "I didn't even see him, I was all the way in the back. It was everyone else who stepped on him, I saw it! I even tried to stop them!" Uh-huh. Which is why when people were told that they have to leave the store because a man had been KILLED, they started screaming, "But I've been on line since yesterday morning!" and continued shopping. Nice.

To everyone that shoved their way into the store that morning: I hope that when your kids open their presents this year, the ones you killed a man in order to save $20 on, you think about him and his family and what kind of Christmas THEY are having. Merry Christmas, America.

Thursday, November 27, 2008

Celebrity gossip websites. Without them, I wouldn't have nearly as much to talk about here.

The awesome world we live in. I've seen a lot of it, but I plan on seeing much, much more in the years to come.

On demand and network websites. I have a TiVO but it's not hooked up (long story.) This actually hasn't posed much of a problem in my TV-watching because every show I watch is either on a cable network that has episodes on demand, or on a regular network that posts their shows online. This comes in handy on Thursday nights when Grey's Anatomy is on at the same time as The Office. My world would collapse if I missed either of those shows.

Makeup removing wipes. The last thing any girl wants to do when she stumbles home drunk from the bars is take her makeup off and wash her face. With these, all you have to do is wipe your face. Hallelujah.

On a serious note, I am very thankful for my friends this year. Studying for the bar was a pretty low point in my life. I don't think I've ever felt more down and out (and dare I say depressed) than during those 2 months. My best friend (hi Natalie!) was always, ALWAYS there for me, giving me constant support, validation and positive reinforcement. I could rely on her to listen to me bitch and whine and she never complained. I thank her for that from the bottom of my heart. And thank you to all my girls and their guys for forcing me to get out of the house on a few Saturdays, you have no idea how much I needed that! (And thanks to Bud for supporting my nasty nicotine habit through it all!)

But I also want to thank everyone else in my life that said they missed me while I was gone. As I've mentioned several times on this site, I sort of fled the country after the bar exam. I went home to the Motherland for what was only supposed to be a 2-week vacation. Two weeks turned into 2 months, and I didn't come home until sometime in October. But when I did, I got so many phone calls and emails from people I didn't expect to hear from--everything from "you're alive!" to "when are we getting together?" to "you're back....let's bang." (OK, that last one was a lie... sort of.) I honestly didn't expect so many people to say that they missed me and that they were happy I was back. It really made me feel good, and reminded me of what wonderful friends I have in my life. So thank you. Thank you Nicolle and Natalie and Caila and Bud and all your men. Thank you law school friends for your constant support and for checking up on me while I was away (I'm lookin' at you, Zman, Rob and Russo!) Thank you to my friends in San Diego (hi Liz!) and Florida and Denver and the Motherland for your long-distance friendships and endless entertainment when I come visit. And an extra special thanks to Stephanie, my roommate, my pumpkin, my love for understanding me better than I think she does.

Me: Speaking of it being a small world, did you read my post about that girl who found the pictures of her husband in Barcelona?Z: I did actually.Me: Dude, how crazy was that?!Z: I know. Sort of like when I saw my ex-stalker on an Israeli dating game show.

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

I think everything about this ad screams "good lawyer," don't you? The confederate Jamaican flag belt buckle, the droptop, the bling. I mean, who wouldn't want to hire an attorney named P Ta?

I stared at this advertisement for a good 3 or 4 minutes, trying to decide if it was real. After a few minutes of internet research, I determined that Mr. Mon does in fact hold himself out as an attorney. Whether he's actually licensed to practice we'll never know. But it begs two questions: where did this guy go to law school? And 2) where does he practice?

After finding out that 225 is the area code for Louisiana, it all made sense. Sort of like 5 years from now when we find out that Tom Cruise's "Scientology Center" is really a sex dungeon.

Because the Internet is a wonderful and magical place (and also because I'm a huge celebrity gossip whore) I tend to find a lot of interesting [read: useless] stuff on the Interwebs. For instance, did you know that Spender Pratt and Heidi Montag got married last week? What's that? You don't know who they are? Wait, you don't care? Me neither!! But I still know about it thanks to Perez Hilton, and that has to count for something.

I justify my hourly checking of those silly websites by reminding myself that for every 10 useless nuggets of information about Brad Pitt's hair, there is usually something about a man marrying his goat or a large woman taking a tumble that's worth checking out. Every so often I stumble across something that makes me go, "Wow. They really said that/shot that out of their mouth." At which point I either pass it along to my friends in an email, or I post it here and share it with you guys. (You should feel lucky when I choose the latter, as it takes a lot more work. You're welcome.)

So this morning, as I was blog-checking and site-stalking, I came across this article about Nicole Kidman and her new movie, Australia. Now before you read it, you should know two things: first, I don't hate Nicole Kidman. I think she's a lovely lady who came under the wicked spell of an evil genius until she was dropped like a french fry at an inner city McDonald's. Second, my reaction to this article was much like the reaction I had to Wanda Sykes announcing she's gay: I cocked my head to the side, put one hand on my hip and wagged my finger with the other while saying, "Huh. Come to think of it, that makes perfect sense." Here's a little of what the article had to say about Nic:

"She can't act. Instead, she drifts around films like a lost porcelain doll, looking frozen, brittle and vapid, staring at the camera with her oh-golly-look-how-I'm-looking-interesting blue eyes."

Friday, November 21, 2008

So Ashlee Simpson and her eyeliner-wearing husband Pete Wentz had a baby yesterday. It's a boy, 7 lbs. 11oz. and 2o 1/2 inches long. And they named him Bronx Mowgli Wentz.

OK, first of all, his middle name is that of a character in The Jungle Book. The only thing I have to say on that is, why? Secondly, his initials are B.M.W. Which is fine if you're Carmine Gotti or one of Pamela Anderson's kids. But an emo baby? Is that even legal? Isn't this some violation of the Emo Code? "Thou shalt neither own, nor name one's child after, a German car or expensive champagne."

So instead of naming their kid Audi or Tears of Heaven or James, they named him Bronx. After a borough in New York City. One they have clearly never been to, or they would have realized that naming their child Bronx is the equivalent of naming him Crack Ho or Glock Rocker. Do Ashlee and Skinny Jeans have any idea what the Bronx is like? Aside from that cool Zoo and the occasional chicken parm hero at an awesome Italian restaurant (and the Yankees, but let's not go there), I'm not seeing the appeal of naming your kid after a place that strips more cars than women. I have lived right across from this borough my entire life (LITERALLY, like right across the water) and I rarely venture into the Bronx. I once went to a Yankee game and parked IN HARLEM. My memories of the Bronx include being stuck in endless hours of traffic on the Whitestone Bridge and kids peeing on the McDonald's. It's pretty much a place I pass through on my way upstate or anywhere not on Long Island. Or when I feel like being stuck in traffic. Have I mentioned the traffic?

So why the Bronx? Really, I'm curious. Why not Manhattan or Queens? At least Victoria Beckham named her son Brooklyn after a cool borough. (And even I won't suggest that they should've named their son Staten Island, that's just cruel.) Did Ashlee and Sideswpet Bangs meet in New York or something? The only explanation I can think of is that Baby Emo was conceived while his parents were stuck in traffic on the Cross Bronx Expressway. ONLY explanation.

So I saw Quantum of Solace over the weekend. And I must say, I was a little disappointed. It wasn't a BAD movie, not in the least. It was just...eh. A friend described it perfectly when he said, "it was everything I expected a Bond movie to be." There were car chases and foot chases and boat chases and airplane chases. There were guns and explosions and evil villains. There was a hot Bond girl and some amazing scenery. But that's about it. The storyline was a little hard to follow (at least for me) and I found myself zoning out a few times. The fight scenes seemed forced and the ending was anticlimactic. In short, it could have been a lot better. And all this coming from a die hard 007 fan!

The good news: it's a Bond movie! Daniel Craig is still hot, the scenery is still gorgeous, Bond still drives an Aston Martin and chills with hot girls, and his next adventure will be even cooler.

Bottom line: it's a Bond movie. Nowhere near as good as Casino Royale (which will always be the superior Bond movie) but much better than Tomorrow Never Dies.

Grandma: Can you take me to Macy's later?Me: Sorry, I can't. I have to go to court.Grandma: For work? Are you getting a job?Me: No Grandma, it's not for work.Grandma: You're not bailing someone out of jail, are you?

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Here's a comment I received from WOW power leveling on my post about that Catholic priest from North Carolina:

Yes! Your blog is great, and I know something about the night elves, they are the race I WOW power leveling when I get my first account:The reclusive Night Elves power leveling[ were the first race to awaken in the World of Warcraft Power Leveling. These shadowy, immortal beings were the first to study magic and let it loose throughout the world nearly ten thousand years before Warcraft I. The Night Elves' reckless use of magic drew the Burning Legion into the world and led to a catastrophic war between the two titanic races. The Night Elves barely managed to banish the Legion from the world, but their wondrous homeland was shattered and drowned by the sea. I love this race and suggested everyone that start their WOW power leveling a rogue or druidof night elf

Hmm. Not sure how night elves are related to this post, but they are elves nonetheless. And I love little people, so I'll let this obviously automated comment stay. But the next time a World of Warcraft tip gets left as a comment, I will use the night elves' reckless use of magic and banish the Legion commenter from The World of My Blog. You have been warned!

Monday, November 17, 2008

The girls over at Gingers Is the Watchword love Beyonce. And I totally get it. I won't lie, when "Irreplaceable" first came out I was all over it. And I think her new song, "All My Single Ladies", is pretty catchy. I concede that B. Knowles is an awesome singer and great performer.

But once in a great while there comes a time when even the most devout Beyonce fans have to admit that, on a occasion, there is someone who can do it better than the great BK.

Every so often, when I'm missing the Motherland, I log onto one of the local radio stations' websites and listen for a few hours. It both makes me smile and makes me homesick, but it mostly keeps the memories of my friends and family fresh in my mind. (It also helps with not forgetting the language.)

This morning I was listening to the station's live feed when a popular song from this past summer came on. It reminded me, among other things, of one day in particular. I was sitting at a cafe on the main road in my town. The terrace of this particular cafe ends right at the street, separated only by some hedges. A car pulled up to a break in the hedges, stopping dead in the middle of the busy road. It was the town priest. He rolled down the passenger window and yelled to my cousin, "Is Elvira here?" (Elvira is the proprietor of the cafe.) When my cousin answered no, the priest started to drive off, but not before some cars behind him started beeping. At the top of his lungs, and with a typical Motherland hand gesture, he screamed "Ah wait a second you son of a whore!"

Nescafe Vanilla promptly shot out of my nose and much coughing ensued. It was truly a great moment.

Saturday, November 15, 2008

I heard a pretty awesome story the other day. I have no idea if it's true (it sounds like one of those made-up love stories) but I thought I'd share it regardless.

So girl meets guy, girl falls in love with guy, guy and girl get married. They buy a house together and girl (now 27) moves all her stuff out of her parents' garage. She's unpacking in the new house and comes across some pictures from a trip she took to Europe after college. She's going through the photos and notices a familiar face in the background of some pictures from Spain. Upon closer inspection, she realizes it's her husband! It turns out that 5 years ago, they were both in Barcelona, at Park Guell, at the same time. Crazy!

I always wonder about stuff like this when I'm taking pictures and catch random people in the background. Have I ever seen them before? Will I see them again? Or will we never even know that our paths crossed until we see pictures years later?

Better yet, what happens when I get caught in someone else's background? Do these people have pictures of background-me up in their homes? Am I made fun of for what I'm wearing or having a weird expression? When they show people their vacation photos, do they have to explain the chick in the background getting in the way of their every pose?

Friday, November 14, 2008

"A South Carolina Roman Catholic priesthas told his parishioners that they should refrain from receiving Holy Communion if they voted for Barack Obama because the Democratic president-elect supports abortion, and supporting him 'constitutes material cooperation with intrinsic evil.'"

Here is the priest's reasoning:

"Our nation has chosen for its chief executive the most radical pro-abortion politician ever to serve in the United States Senate or to run for president. Voting for a pro-abortion politician when a plausible pro-life alternative exists constitutes material cooperation with intrinsic evil, and those Catholics who do so place themselves outside of the full communion of Christ's Church and under the judgment of divine law. Persons in this condition should not receive Holy Communion until and unless they are reconciled to God in the Sacrament of Penance, lest they eat and drink their own condemnation."

Patience is a virtue, they say. I suppose that's true. Patience is a good thing to have when you're dealing with, say, screaming children or a line at the DMV. Patience prevents people from exchanging insults or throwing sharp objects at each other. It's also what kept me from choking a Delta Airlines employee when it took me 36 hours to get home from Reno one time.

Patience, however, should not be tested when waiting for things like test results. Or if you won the lottery. And trying desperately to get into a website for almost 4 hours to find out such things is just ridiculous. What happened to the good ole days when we got test results in the mail? There was no anxious waiting in front a computer screen, getting your hopes up every time the page loaded past "Connected," only to have them crushed like a watermelon under an elephant's enormous foot when that little circle kept turning. When we got results in the mail, you weren't tied to your computer, staring incessantly at the screen, willing it to load; you just waited around for the mail to come. And when it did, and your results weren't included, you got frustrated for two minutes and continued on with your day.

What I'm trying to say is, the New York State Bar Exam results came out 9am this morning and I STILL DON'T KNOW IF I PASSED. Not that I think I passed, I probably failed. I didn't exactly put a valiant effort into studying, what with not wanting to be an attorney and all. But still... it would be nice to know what kind of shitfaced I'm getting tonight.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

I graduated from law school in May of this year. Sometime in late August, while I was laying on a European beach and trying to forget the living hell that was the bar exam, my school sent me a postcard informing me that my diploma was ready.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

I try to keep politics away from this blog for many reasons. First, I didn't intend for this website to be an outlet for my political views. No matter how right I think I am about my views on abortion or the economy, there will always be someone out there who disagrees with me. And I respect that. Accordingly, I try not to shove my opinions down other people's throats and preach that my way is the right way. Secondly, I didn't want to turn this site into a forum for political discussions. Everyone is entitled to read a website at their leisure without feeling like they have to disagree with what's posted. This site was meant to entertain, not incite.

There are times, however, when I can't help but express my views. There are times when I read something in the newspaper or see something on TV that I find so morally wrong that I can't help but comment on it. And that urge to speak up is severely exaggerated when that something is not only socially irresponsible, but borderline unconstitutional. And that "something" is the state of California voting "yes" on Proposition 8.

I am not gay. I have but one member of my immediate family who is gay. I don't have any close friends who are gay. I don't frequent gay bars on a regular basis or attend parades. The issue of gay marriage minimally affects me in a personal way, if at all. Yet I can't help but find what happened in California on election day nothing short of reprehensible. A state that makes up 12% of this country's population essentially declared that a certain class of citizens had the right to marry, a right which they are fundamentally entitled to under our Constitution and need not be "given," and then took it away. In the wake of making such monumental history, on the same day that this country elected a black man as president, fifty-two perfect of California's population decided that it should not be legal for members of the same sex to marry each other.

I could spend HOURS talking about why this is wrong, why it's illegal, why it's disgusting, why this is exactly the reason I am wary of religion. But rather then argue my opinion by repeating all the points that have already been made by Bill Maher, Margaret Cho and Perez Hilton, I offer you the following comment by MSNBC news correspondant Keith Olbermann. He sums up my feelings on this issue perfectly.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

My mom is a huge health nut. Anything that she can find that's organic, she buys. Consequently, I've developed a taste for things like organic milk, free range eggs, organic produce and meat, etc. And for the most part, organic isn't only better for you, but tastes better, too. Even when I lived alone I bought organic milk because after years of drinking it, regular milk tastes weird to me.

But there are limits here, people. There's a difference between buying an organic chicken and buying organic chocolate chip cookies. "But they're better for you, they have less fat and less sugar," my mother argued. Mom, why would I want to eat cookies that are good for me? When I look for a cookie, I'm not looking to see which one has the least amount of calories; I'm looking for the one that tastes the yummiest. And that's usually the one that has the most artificial crap in it.

I made myself pancakes this morning. But I didn't use Aunt Jamima pancake mix, no sir. I used Whole Foods Organic Waffle and Pancake Mix. Made with whole wheat flour and no preservatives. And it was disgusting. We're talking PANCAKES, people. The weekend breakfast treat that takes 20 minutes to prepare, the meal you eat with butter and syrup. There's a whole chain of restaurants dedicated specifically to the pancake, for dude's sake. Why one earth would ANYONE want to healthy that up? How do you even market that? "Disappoint your kids this weekend with a whole wheat breakfast, complete with organic maple sap that has NO SUGAR!"

There are just certain foods that are not meant to be good for you. By their very nature, they are fatty and glutenous and delicious, and that's why they're called "treats" or "desserts": because they're not meant to be eaten in excess. If we had bacon and pancakes every morning for breakfast, we'd all weigh 300lbs and die at 40. But when you start taking the carbs and the fat out of these treats, when you start making everything organic and with no fun artificial crap, you're taking the fun out of eating it. I don't want low-fat cheesecake. I'm not interested in a sugar-free, glutton-free organic brownie. And I certainly don't want whole wheat organic pancakes the three times a year I eat them. You may as well put a plate of hay in front of me and save yourself the 20 minutes it took to make the pancakes because, honestly, they taste no different.

Monday, November 10, 2008

I heart Entourage with a passion comparable to the love I have for lobster tacos. It's a deep-rooted, palpable love that is stronger than the ties I have to certain friends. Vince, Turtle, E, Drama and Ari have been my paramours for 30 minutes on 13 Sundays for 4 years now, and I will be heartbroken when I have to say goodbye to them. And that day will tragically come one day.

But until then, I will languish in their comedic relief, bask in their sarcastic humor, soak up every vulgarity and inappropriate comment that comes out of their mouths. Because really, what is life without a few gay Asian assistant jokes?

Leave the dishes arranged in such a way that they all collapse in the dish rack at 1 o'clock in the morning, causing me to think there's an intruder in the house and walk out into the hallway armed with a can of air freshener and prayer that I won't be raped or killed.

Saturday, November 8, 2008

Thursday, November 6, 2008

Yesterday I made a pizza from scratch and baked two kinds of oatmeal cookies. Three days ago I baked buttermilk biscuits. A few days before that it was a raspberry tart, and a week before that, a cheesecake. Since I've been back from the Motherland, I have organized my house room by room, cleaned out my closet, driven my grandmother around, run errands, and babysat my 12-year old cousin. This all comes after 7 weeks of making pasta from scratch, doing dishes 3 times a day, cleaning and doing laundry for 9 people, picking up 2 kids from school, and fetching the occasional bucket of water from the well when the plumbing went out.

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Age is a funny thing. People seem to want to classify each other in terms of age, use age as a life marker or milestone. And we never seem to be content with the age we are. When I was 16, I couldn't wait to be 18 so that I could be an "adult." When I was 18, I couldn't wait to turn 21 so that I could [legally] drink. And when I finally turned 21, I wanted to to be 25 because I thought that that was the magic number...the age at which you suddenly gain wisdom and maturity, the age at which a great job and boyfriend fall into your lap, when all of life's questions are magically answered and you know exactly what you want to do with your life.

Well let me tell you something: age aint' nothin' but a number.

I am now 26 years old, a law school graduate with no desire to practice law, a penchant for men who live long distances away, and a strong desire to move across the country and live on the beach. I am by no means the responsible, gainfully employed, one-half-of-a-couple adult I thought I'd be by now. None of life's questions have been answered for me. I didn't suddenly wake up one morning and realize what I wanted to do for the rest of my life; if anything, I have more questions now than I did at 23.

And you know what? I'm fine with all that. I truly am. I know that one day, things will fall into place for me and I'll be content. But until that happens, one of the most difficult aspects about not knowing where I'm going will be watching everyone else's lives fall into place. Here I am, debating whether to drive across the country with no job, no apartment, and no money, and my best friend is working 12 hour days for one of the biggest corporations in the world and planning her wedding. Friends from law school are in a position to turn down job offers while I want to pursue a career I didn't go to school for. Everyone seems to be getting engaged and moving in with their significant others, and all I can think about is how much I love sleeping in my own bed! (I have no desire to fight over who left towels on the bathroom floor, what's wrong with me?!) Where is the guidebook for this kind of stuff? Where is the manual that explains how to deal with being the maid of honor when you're single? Where is the Dummies guide to moving back in with your parents and easing the boredom by baking cookies? And my God, the amount of cookies and cakes and biscuits I've baked since I've been home...

But guess what? There is no guidebook. There are no answers. Being gainfully employed doesn't necessarily make you responsible. Turning 25 or 32 or 48 doesn't make you an adult. There is no magic wisdom that you suddenly wake up with upon turning a certain age. You make it up as you go along and hope it's the right decision. And if it's not, you try and fix it. You don't hide, you don't blame others, you you take responsibility for your decisions and you move on. And THAT is what makes you an adult.

Tonic without the gin. I recently bought a bottle of Tanqueray, and let me tell you something about tonic water: it tastes a little like vomit.

Burgers without the cheese. No offense to my Torah-reading friends, but it's just not the same.

Chicken broth without the bullion cube. Have you ever tasted unseasoned soup? It's like drinking a spoonful of hot water with just a hint of grease.

Cabbage without fish tacos. Little known fact about fish tacos: you're supposed to serve them with cabbage, not lettuce. I would have never known that if I hadn't gone to the City of Awesome.

Freshly baked bread without butter. Oh my God, have you ever had fresh bread? Like FRESH, crusty bread that's still warm? No? Well get your ass to a bakery the next time you're up at 5am and indulge me. There are fewer things better in life.

Wine without the stuff that makes it wine. Kick you feet up and get ready for a life lesson you will not soon forget. Before grapes ferment and become wine, winemakers (read: my uncles back in the Motherland) usually tap the barrels for what they call "young wine." They like to tell you it's sweet (it is), and that it won't get you drunk (it won't), and that it's good for you (questionable.) Really what it is, is a natural laxative. Two glasses of this stuff and you will have NO problem dropping the chocolate cobra. And just so we're clear, what I really mean is that you will shit your brains out. For argument's sake, let's say you only have one glass. No big deal, right? WRONG. One glass only ensures that you make three trips to the bathroom instead of five. Why am I telling you this? Because on the off chance that you read this before going to Italy or France or your uncle's garage and he's all, "Here, try my new wine," you can be all, "Has it fermented yet? Because if not, I'm really not in the mood for diarrhea today."

About Me

I left hectic and crazy New York to live the relaxed life in San Diego, California. Instead of shoveling snow and commuting 90 minutes to work, I now do yoga, cook, and work three blocks from the ocean. Life is good.